Makeup
by spockandawe
Summary: The Lieutenant is painting Amon's scar on, but Amon is getting impatient and bored.


I get impatient while my Lieutenant paints the scar. It takes a long time to draw on the smooth rippling lines of a burn scar, lay on the variations in color. I know that this is much faster than trying to do it myself in the mirror, and he has a talent for capturing the twisted flesh to horrify anyone who catches a glimpse. I sit without moving on a chair as he leans over me. The side of his hand rests against my chin to steady the brush and his brow is furrowed with concentration as he works. He steps closer to get a better angle, straddling my legs and very nearly sitting in my lap.

I shift in irritation at how long this is taking. He stands so close, but he barely touches me. I can feel his breath against my cheek and the heat radiating from his body, but our only true contact is through one hand and a brush. Well, I could fix that. I nudge his thighs apart with my knees, inviting him to just sit on my legs. He hesitates for a second, looking down at me suspiciously. Clever man. While he's still thinking I grab his hips to pull him forward, seating him so close he's almost pressed against my chest. Then I let him get back to the scar.

"Amon, what are you doing?"

Ah, he knows that I can't talk while the plaster on my lip is drying. I gesture helplessly toward it and look up at him with regretful eyes. From this close I long to just close the distance and pull him down for a long kiss, but he'd never forgive me if I ruined all his work. I let my hands fall and after another mistrustful look he returns to painting.

In moments he's wrapped up in the task again. When I judge that he's distracted enough I reach for the buttons on his shirt. He sighs resignedly, and I have to choke back laughter at the expression on his face. It's equal parts disgust, surrender, and anticipation.

"Really. You couldn't have waited just a little longer? Or perhaps have done this earlier?"

No, I just couldn't ruin the makeup with an answer. My face stays carefully expressionless and he glowers at me before picking up the brush and determinedly going back to work. He's close enough to me that I can see nothing but his head and shoulders. I undo the buttons by feel and push back the shirt, running an appreciative hand over the contours of his chest. We stay like that for a while, just simple caresses as he obstinately continues on with paint and brush. I can see his face though, the slow flush coming to his cheeks. I can feel the growing bulge against my leg, and I can hear his breath coming faster.

Without warning, a hand drops to his pants and I slide it under his waistband to cup him. At that direct contact he makes a small involuntary noise and his knuckles whiten as he grips the paint brush. I've got his cock out of his pants now and the slow motion of my hand up and down its length is driving him insane. I get to watch his face as the blush deepens, his eyes half-closed as he leans forward toward me and thrusts into my hand. The faster he tries to go, the slower I move. He looks down at me pleadingly, but I only raise my eyebrows and shrug. I'm simply not sure what he wants. Finally he whispers one word.

"More."

I stop moving entirely.

_"Please."_

I relent, and push him up to his feet. Before he can react, I'm there behind him. I grab a hip to pull him back against me and grind against his ass as I take his cock in my free hand. He collapses back against my shoulder as I jerk him off and the little gasps and cries he makes only make me harder against him. He calls my name as he climaxes and leans against me, breathing hard for a few seconds as he tries to get himself under control. When he steps away and turns to face me, I judge the plaster's dry enough to move and lift a hand to my mouth, licking his cum deliberately from each finger and never dropping my eyes from his.

This time, he moves faster than I expect, dropping to one knee in front of me and pulling my pants down around my hips. There are no games from him, he simply cups my ass and takes me into his mouth all at once. It's so overwhelming, so warm and wet, and as he moves away I twine my hands in his hair to pull him forward again. He moves a hand to roughly grab my balls, and the barest scrape of his teeth tells me that he doesn't appreciate my behavior. I have to smile and press forward harder into his mouth. It isn't long before I've lost myself in the hot slide of lips and tongue, and my eyes are closed as I thrust against him. I can't help groaning as I come, and I curl forward around him as he takes me all in, holding me there until I pull away.

When he stands, licking his lips, I move forward to wrap my arms around him. He lets me stand like that for a minute before he leads me back to the chair and firmly presses me down. As he retrieves the brush and paint from the floor I remark, "I think that was an excellent way to finish the scar." When he looks up at me and rolls his eyes I have to laugh, and he can't help smiling in return.


End file.
